Delay
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Michandrea AU. Oneshot. There was no way the flight was coming in that night. The best they could do was give up and wait until morning. At most they could hope for good company to help pass the time.


**AN: This is just for fun. A little something that Hanna requested.**

 **I own nothing from the show.**

 **I hope that anyone who reads enjoys. Let me know what you think!**

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Michonne had already learned several things just from sitting and observing the situation. She'd learned that most people waiting on Flight 456 were leaving or had already left. That was clear because the waiting area that she was in, packed to the brim earlier with grumpy and pacing individuals who spat curse words at screens that couldn't hear them, was almost entirely abandoned now. They'd given up and gone home, no doubt, to the warmth of their beds. They'd decided that it wasn't worth it to wait. After all, the freak snow—though not any great amount by the standards of locations that were used to such a phenomenon—was likely to keep all planes from even _trying_ to come in, just as it was likely to keep most people off of the roads. She'd learned, too, that the blonde woman was most definitely waiting for the same plane as she was, and that by her reaction, Michonne could know if there'd been any change without even bothering to get up and go and look at the screens herself.

There was no reason for Michonne to leave. She'd driven two hours to get here so that she could pick her sister and her family up for the holidays. She wasn't going to drive, in this weather, two hours back home just so that she could turn around and make the trip again to find out if the planes were coming in the following day. She wasn't going to leave, either, and risk being two hours away when her sister arrived with the kids. She'd never hear the end of it if she did. She was too long the unreliable one in the family and that wasn't going to be put on her again this time.

The blonde, too, must have some reason that she wasn't leaving the airport. She was visibly on edge and she got up at least every five to ten minutes to check for changes, even though it was clear that there weren't going to be any changes. Michonne made up her mind, once she glanced at her watch and saw the time—a quick calculation told her how many hours she'd been waiting—that she was going to get out of there if no change happened in the next two trips that the blonde made to view the monitors.

After the second trip that the blonde made, after she sighed deeply and her shoulders sunk in defeat and irritation, Michonne assumed that about thirty minutes had passed. She stood up from her seat and made her way to the blonde who was still staring at the monitors like she might, somehow, stare them into submission and force them to give her the update that she wanted.

"It's not coming in tonight," Michonne said.

The blonde jumped nearly out of her skin, lulled by the quiet of the almost abandoned waiting area, and Michonne quickly apologized for startling her.

"I'm waiting on my sister," Michonne said. "And her husband and kids. It's not coming in tonight, though. We'll be lucky if they make it in tomorrow."

The blonde looked at Michonne like this was the worst news that she'd ever heard and like she hadn't even considered it a possibility before.

"Michonne," Michonne offered quickly.

"Andrea," Andrea said with a sigh. "I'm two hours away from here—I can't..."

She didn't finish what she was going to say, though, she just shook her head and Michonne nodded hers.

"I've been in this airport a couple of times," Michonne said. "There's a twenty four hour café on the bottom floor. Now...I haven't eaten in at least six hours and I know you haven't either. Would you—join me for something?"

Andrea looked around, almost with the same expression as someone who was looking for another person to check with, and then she looked at Michonne with the same desperate expression on her face that she'd been wearing for at least a couple of hours. She nodded.

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "Yeah..."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"If it's going to be so terrible," she said, "then I don't want to force you. I just thought you might want to—sit down? Eat something? Not focus on that screen? Because it isn't going to be changing any time soon."

Andrea looked around again, and then she nodded.

"No," she said. "I'm sorry. I mean—yes I want to go with you. No—I didn't mean that I didn't want to. I'm just tired and my sister's coming in and I have—I have so much to do. And now? It's almost ten thirty and I can't go back to..."

Michonne interrupted her by putting a hand on her shoulder and physically turning her body. She pointed in the direction that they'd be going and hoisted her purse farther up on her shoulder with the free hand.

"Let's go," Michonne said. "The elevators are that way. We'll—get something to eat and you can share a room with me at the place next door tonight. Tomorrow? You'll pick up your sister, I'll pick up mine, and—we'll have some happy holidays."

Andrea didn't say anything, but she did somewhat stammer. Michonne attributed it to fatigue, frustration, and possibly surprise. She led the woman to the elevators, pushed the button to go down, and waited in silence with Andrea staring at her. But she did smile, even though she bit it back, once she recognized some signs of relaxation washing over Andrea.

"Why would you offer to share a room with me?" Andrea asked by the time they were getting off the elevator on the lowest floor.

"Why wouldn't you offer to share a room with me?" Michonne asked.

"You don't know me," Andrea said.

"And you don't know me," Michonne responded. "But—I've been watching you for hours. I suppose that if you were some sort of psychopath there might have been some telling signs by now. Am I wrong?"

Andrea turned to Michonne, stopping their forward progress toward the café, and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You've been watching me for hours?" Andrea asked. "Maybe you're the psychopath."

Michonne laughed.

"Criminal lawyer," Michonne said. "Close enough."

Andrea smiled.

"Civil rights lawyer," Andrea said.

"Definitely a psychopath," Michonne said. Andrea laughed quietly. "Listen—share the room or don't. I just thought that you might prefer it to sleeping in the waiting area. I've done that before too and a bed is far preferable to the floor."

Andrea thanked her, informed her that she appreciated such an offer, and then made a show of leading them the rest of the way to the small café. They were alone there for the most part. At this hour all of the planes that were going to land had landed. All of the ones that were going to take off had taken off. It had been hours before when they'd cancelled anymore outgoing flights and it hadn't taken long after that for people to realize that the vessels bringing in their loved ones simply weren't going to arrive. Now? All that was left were the diehards and those, like Andrea and Michonne, that were too far from home to make the return trip now.

As soon as they sat down to order food, Michonne realized how hungry she was. Andrea must have felt the same way, because by the time that the waitress had left, Michonne felt slightly embarrassed by their order and was beginning to question whether or not the table was going to be large enough to hold the number of plates that would be headed in their direction soon. To try to make herself feel better about it, she set about rearranging everything that was already on the table to make room.

"You ordered coffee," Andrea said.

Michonne hummed at her and glanced at her.

"You ordered coffee," Andrea repeated.

Michonne hadn't paid attention to what Andrea had ordered other than to realize it was going to rival her late night breakfast in size.

"You didn't?" Michonne asked.

"You're going to be up all night if you drink coffee right now," Andrea said.

Michonne shook her head.

"Common misconception," Michonne said. "I can drink coffee at any hour. It doesn't keep me awake. Not anymore."

"Not anymore?" Andrea asked.

"Used to," Michonne confirmed. "Now? Nothing like that phases me. I can drink a pot of coffee and go to bed an hour later. Once it's time to sleep? I'm asleep."

"I used to be like that," Andrea said. "I'm too old for it now."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Too old for it and you're what? Thirty eight?" Michonne asked.

Andrea smiled.

"Flattery," she said. "But for what?"

Michonne shook her head.

"I've got no reason to flatter you," Michonne said. Although, maybe that wasn't entirely true. The woman was attractive, and Michonne had spent her fair share of time with a variety of lovers who weren't half as desirable as Andrea—even if she was wearing the normal "grime" that seemed to come from too much time spent in an airport—but Michonne viewed the night as nothing more than two people who were, literally, waiting out a storm together. She had no expectations for it. Therefore, there was really no need to try to butter the blonde up for more. "How old are you, then?"

Andrea smiled coyly.

"Not thirty eight," she said.

"An answer like that's going to make me think you're a very well preserved fossil," Michonne teased.

Andrea laughed.

"Forty five," Andrea said.

"Forty two," Michonne shot back.

"Are we bidding or you're telling?" Andrea asked.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"I'm forty two," Michonne said. "And you're forty five. And here comes food."

The waitress exchanged pleasantries with them while, from the other table where she rested it, she unloaded plates from a tray and onto their table. When she was gone, they both immediately tucked into their food—tasting and trying this and that to season it to their liking before the feeding frenzy truly began.

"Either way," Michonne said, "we won't be getting the senior citizen discount tonight."

"And I won't be getting reimbursed for a thing," Andrea said. "Andrea—the one who doesn't have time for her family. Andrea—the one who doesn't do everything she should for everyone. Andrea—the one who'll never really find anyone because she just doesn't have time. Nevermind what Andrea wants. But...she's always got to be Andrea who has the money to give everyone who has their hand out while they're criticizing the work that puts that money in Andrea's pocket."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"So you got suckered into picking your sister up too?" Michonne said.

"You too?" Andrea asked, smirking at Michonne across the table.

"Michonne—you own the firm. You can take off any time you like. Nevermind that moving clients around is next to impossible and you have to OK your schedule with at least ten other people," Michonne said.

"This is the first time I've sat down to a meal in—two weeks?" Andrea said. "Usually I just eat over work."

"Same," Michonne said. "But—it's greedy to expect to take your days off and do with them what you please. It's better to spend them in airports waiting to pick up a sister that's going to rub her perfect family in your face all day and ask you—even though you've made yourself clear—whether or not you've got yourself a man yet."

Andrea laughed and hummed her agreement.

"My little sister is my half sister," Andrea said. "It's weird. She's ten years younger than me and—it's like we don't even have the same parents. We almost don't even come from the same planet. She was like—Butter Queen or whatever the hell pageants she won. I was too busy bussing tables to worry about pageants."

"Or boys?" Michonne asked.

Andrea looked at her, tipped her head slightly to the side, and smiled. She shook her head.

"I never worried about boys," Andrea said.

Michonne got the twist in her stomach. In Andrea's voice and facial expression, she got all the reassurance she needed. They didn't have to come right out and say it, but if this were that kind of night? They were both so inclined.

Except it wasn't that kind of night and if anything happened it would be too impulsive and regretted in the morning—nothing more than something born out of fatigue, boredom, and a little mutual understanding of each other's problems.

"Me either," was all Michonne said to make herself clear to Andrea. She saw a faint hint of a smile that the woman quickly pushed away by trying to eat half an order of scrambled eggs in one bite.

No. Tonight wouldn't be anything. Tonight would be—a nice meal in a not so nice café. It would be a meal that was greasy and artery clogging made nice by sympathetic company. It would be a room shared in an overpriced hotel room that would probably charge them extra simply because there was nowhere else for them to stay with such ease. If Andrea wasn't too tired? And Michonne wasn't about to fall asleep after the fatty food induced coma? It might be a movie watched on television and some conversation shared that was interspersed throughout. That's all that tonight would be.

But—that didn't mean that was all there could ever be.

Michonne chewed on her thoughts a moment and with more care than she chewed most of the food. Then she cleared her throat.

"You're two hours away?" Michonne asked.

Andrea hummed.

"What?" She asked.

"Two hours away," Michonne said. "You said you lived—that you came from two hours away?"

Andrea hummed again and enthusiastically nodded her head to make up for the fact that she wasn't speaking around the food that she was eating.

"Near Hiawassee," Andrea said.

Michonne smiled to herself.

"Young Harris," Michonne said.

Andrea looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Michonne smiled. There probably wasn't a twenty minute drive between them.

"We could have driven together," Michonne said. "If we'd have known..."

Andrea nodded and then she smiled.

"We could have," she said. "I guess—there's always next time? I get suckered into this a lot. I have to come to Atlanta a lot on business, too."

Michonne nodded.

"Me too," Michonne agreed. "There's always next time," she confirmed. "Or—maybe just coming up on business and then taking a day off? Enjoying that sit down meal?"

Andrea took a moment to respond. She took a long enough moment that Michonne was beginning to sweat the whole thing and was beginning to wish that she hadn't asked at all. She wasn't very good at this and she was entirely unaccustomed to being the one to make any kind of first move or first suggestion. The longer that Andrea took—what seemed like hours even though it was probably only seconds—the less appealing Michonne's food even appeared to be.

Finally, though, Andrea smiled.

"That almost sounds like a date," Andrea said, her voice low.

Michonne swallowed, realizing that Andrea's face wasn't one that belonged to someone who was entirely horrified.

"It could be—whatever you wanted it to be," Michonne said.

"OK," Andrea said.

"OK?" Michonne repeated back to her.

Andrea nodded her head.

"Just—not to any airports?" Andrea said. "And—not when it's going to snow?"

Michonne laughed to herself.

"It's a date," she confirmed.


End file.
